Iron and Ashes
by vogonz
Summary: Celtic!AU It was pure chance that he was away that night, pure chance that created a legend. Feedback is greatly appreciated...and craved...


He was unable shake the feeling that something wasn't right. The night was far too silent, and not even the trees were stirring in the breeze. He sat alone on the bank of the ditch. His gaze fixed on the ancient high stones, a temple now overgrown and forgotten. Ferns, thorns and grass towered high, embracing the cold stoned pillars. The sun was slowly disappearing behind the ancient burial mounds. Still the silence was unbearable, a dark pulsating nothingness that invaded his senses. It was unsettling. His usual arrogant demeanour was lost in the wilderness.

Sitting still and rigid, he felt something move behind him.

"Arthur, honestly, why so nervous? You should be used to this by now." A voice behind him laughed, "Three years and you still don't recognise my footsteps." Again the person giggled. His black hair was loosely tied with a length of nettle twine and a dirty animal pelt hung from his shoulder. With bony hands placed on jutting hips, he stood attempting to appear serious, before doubling over and laughing manically.

"Well, maybe if you stopped sneaking up on me I wouldn't have reason to be so nervous Merlin" Arthur emphasised the first syllable knowing that it irritated the other man. He fiddled with the iron amulet sunken into the hilt of his sword as his blonde, shoulder length hair whipped around his face in the light wind.

"Yes, well..." Merlin sat down and sighed, "Three years, three long years since I was banished." The slim man closed his eyes, something on the wind gave him a feeling dread, the suspicion that something was coming. He could feel it thrumming through his blood. Arthur let out a humourless bark of laughter.

"Did you know my father is ill? By next winter he will be dead, It'll be my kingdom then." Arthur's voice startled Merlin from his musings. Secretly he delighted in the fact that the old man was at death's door, he had ruined his life even when he thought it could not get any worse. However he could not reveal his elation to Arthur, he was too close to him to show happiness at the King's death.

Instead he placed his hand on Arthur's arm in a gesture of comfort; he knew his friend had had a hard time over the last few years. Constantly trying to live up to his father's unreal expectations and constantly failing in his father's eyes. Their forbidden meetings were Arthur's only chance to be himself, not shrouded in the pomp and ceremony of court life.

"I bought you food and mead." Once again Arthur's deep voice broke into Merlin's musings.

"Thank you but I've told you I can cope on my own." Merlin hated nothing more than feeling useless.

"I know but I can't help but feel guilty for the fact you were banished." Arthur admitted hanging his head. Merlin laughed.

"I've told you over a thousand times, I should have known better." He leaned his slight frame against Arthur's larger one. "I didn't get this scar for nothing" He said, pointing to the vivid white line running from the top of his thumb to the middle of his palm that signified their unity. The scars were three years old now and still they stood out on their tanned skins, pronounced white lines protruding from work hardened hands. When Arthur's father had discovered this he had been furious. It wasn't right for a prince to be associated with a Powys slave. However when he realised they shared a bed as well as a scar he had cast Merlin into the wilderness. In a way it had been a blessing. Before Merlin was banished it was difficult for the two to meet. His former mistress, the King's young wife, was cold-hearted and bitter, she watched his every move, making it near impossible to slip away.

Merlin was pulled from his reminiscing when Arthur shoulder jerked under his cheek. It was then that he noticed the orange glow piercing the night sky. The Settlement.

"Fire" Arthur breathed, he rose to his feet, pulling Merlin with him. They ran. Feet thudding on the dry ground, hearts pounding, breath ragged in panic. They reached the hill fort quickly, both were agile: Arthur from years of military discipline and Merlin from living wild for three summers. The sight that greeted them tore out their hearts. The place was ransacked bodies strewn on the ground. Thatch was burning furiously, flames rampaging through the parched straw. They could see armoured men, some laden with gold others pinning down helpless women. Swords drawn and coated in blood, shouting and roaring.

"Pagan swine"

"Godless heathens"

"Barbarians"

"Christians" Arthur growled, as he began to draw his sword. Merlin halted him.

"No, there is nothing you can do now, you'll only get yourself killed." Merlin warned. So they sat and watched as everything they had ever held dear was destroyed.

When morning came and the sun began to creep over the ancient burial mounds, the destruction was laid bare. The two survivors rose from their dark hiding place, uncurling their bodies from each other. They walked amongst the devastation. The only sound was the crackling of dying fires. Arthur walked towards the main hall, his home. It was ashes now. In the charred wood there was a glimpse of burned body. A gruesome arm protruding through the rubble. Then he heard a noise, a pathetic, quiet moan of pain. He whipped his head round and saw a mutilated body that twitched in pain. It's head was leaking blood, covering her pale face and matted, dark hair.

"Morgana," he said, gasping as he slid to his knees in front of the damaged corpse. Tears were now rolling freely down his cheeks, he stroked the bloody hair away from his sister's face.

"Christians," she whispered, voice horse with pain. Arthur's anger rose, teeth grinding, fists clenching. Morgana attempted to speak, but it came as a gargled stutter.

"Shhh, now don't speak" Arthur clutched her close. His sister was the only tether attaching him to his home. The only thing preventing him from fleeing to join Merlin in the forest. He held on helplessly as the strenuous breathing ceased. Then he rocked the dead body back and forth, crying in anguish, violent sobs racking his body. Merlin came up behind him placing comforting hand on his shoulder, Arthur let go of the dead body and curled in to his lover. He mourned every thing he had lost, his home. A sudden lust for blood rose in his guts, twisting his insides almost painfully.

When the sun had set, once again disappearing behind the ancient burial mounds, Mordred had calmed enough to organise a final send off for Morgana. Merlin helped him build a funeral pyre and place the girl's body on top. They had washed her and stitched her wounds. Finally they lit the pyre and it flared up the night burning high and bright in the blackness. That was when Arthur swore his revenge, he swore he would be the terror of the Christian world, a legend that would be recounted by bards in the depths of winter, round fires, every one would know the name of Arthur ap Uther and they would fear it. Arthur would have his revenge.


End file.
